


Not a Subtle Thing

by mariusgaaazzh



Category: Naruto
Genre: Brothers, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mornings, Ninja Dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 09:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13074228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariusgaaazzh/pseuds/mariusgaaazzh
Summary: Hashirama & Madara - for some unbelievable reason - think that they are being discreet about their relationship. Tobirama suffers.





	Not a Subtle Thing

Senju Tobirama was generally a morning person.

He usually reserved his training and meetings for the afternoons, and kept the earlier hours to himself. He enjoyed the unspoiled promise of the day, a cup of steaming tea, and the quiet comfort of his study, where there was always an old report or a jutsu draft that needed a fresh eye.

Through the half-open shoju, he could see straight into Hashirama’s garden, the very heart of the Senju compound. It was another testament to his brother’s patience and skill - an elegant, fluid balance of wood, water, and stone. The wind gently splashed between the trees, stirring the branches into quietly rustling urgency. Tobirama sat distracted by it, reflecting upon how the morning light played with the leaves, intertwining light and shadow.

Until the door in the other corner of the courtyard - Hashirama’s rooms - slid open, and a messy heap of dark hair and hastily tied kimono emerged from within, trying to make as little noise as possible.  

Tobirama’s eyes narrowed. _Uchiha_.

The figure paused on the steps, looking for his sandals - and was promptly pulled back inside, into what looked like a brisk, messy goodbye kiss.

The younger Senju sighed. He really did not need to see that.

Madara could be an unparalleled shinobi, but he really should have known better than try to sneak past a sensory type nin in his own home. Tobirama watched the Uchiha very unwillingly separate from his older brother, and melt into the waning shadows, making it up to the roof in one swift jump.

Madara’s chakra signature - dark, and sharp, and burning - was nearly impossible to cloak when activated. In the Senju compound, with its finely tuned seals and chakra flows regulated by the very architecture of the complex, his presence rang like a bell. And Tobirama could not understand why he didn't use the main gate.

Ah, _right_ . They thought they were _being subtle_.

He sighed once again.

Nothing about this relationship was subtle from the beginning. Maybe that's why their father got dark in face and grabbed his sword, when he first heard about the two boys meeting by the river. And maybe that's why Hashirama never gave up on his dream - he knew there was a person he could share it with.

Even when Hashirama and Madara met on the battlefield, Tobirama could tell that his brother was never going for the kill. Instead, they danced around each other with their swords out, nearly matched and meeting blow with a blow. Always sparring, Madara and he, if that could ever be said about those who wielded  jutsu which could dry up rivers and turn mountains to dust.  

Tobirama would reproach his brother, if he hadn’t seen what anyone with a good pair of eyes did, that it was only up to them to resolve whatever was between them in a way they saw fit. He just promised himself he would deliver the final blow, if needed.

And then Hashirama did what Tobirama would never forgive him for - or Madara, or himself, or anyone who just stood there and watched as he directed the kunai at his gut.

He had never been as scared as when he saw his brother’s determination to kill himself, in Hashirama’s firm grip and in a single tear trailing down his cheek. And for a moment, despair hit him like a  wave of Water Release. Tobirama’s might and wisdom crumbled before his brother’s own choice. He froze in his powerlessness and inability to act.

The Uchiha was quicker in stopping Hashirama hand, and then Tobirama could see how their eyes locked --

And since then, it was madness.

Through the peace treaty, and through the alliance ceremony, Tobirama was too busy worrying about Hashirama to question his brother’s constant worry about Madara, which even overshadowed Madara’s own worry about the Uchiha. With the war between two clans at an end, the two seemed astounded that they could now think of and _look_ at each other beyond the battlefield. And they did not stop _looking_.

The summer of Konoha’s founding, it was the lingering glances, and the brushing hands, and all that other nonsense, as the two wandered the cliffs above the village. Whatever innuendo Tobirama would drop about the nature of such walks, Hashirama would just stare at him with his big, round eyes, and then go back to the hospital construction plans and reports on Konoha’s then still shifting borders. His brother was either an oblivious idiot or a genius manipulator.

The paradox resolved itself one warm, mellow day in the late fall. Hashirama came home with brown leaves sticking out of his hair, mud on his kimono, and a dazed expression of a man who was struck by something heavy in the head. He missed his brother’s question, just as he missed the hook to hang his hanten on, but instead smiled to himself about something so bright and radiant that Tobirama felt that he had leave him one on one with whatever he discovered.

That was it, he realized.

Since then, Madara and Hashirama were no less irrevocably together, but it was calmer, quieter thing which knew itself to be true. Something which naturally, uncomplicatedly existed between them found its words and settled into a radiant kind of silence.

And during the next year’s Tanabata festival the two were nearly hand in hand, looking at each like the star-crossed lovers from the heavens. The entirety of young Konoha smiled as they passed the stands with sweets and games. Someone who had a cup of sake too much started reciting an _atrocious_ poem, about two warriors: one bright as the sun on the surface of the leaf, the other - dark as the shadow underneath it. Madara seemed torn between immolating the man and setting himself on fire. Hashirama laughed. And, for the first time, Tobirama truly felt that there is future to be had in this place.

Peace, it turned out, had the startled face of Uchiha Madara trying to quietly leave the Senju house in the morning. And tasted like the pastries his brother brought with him from the Uchiha side of the village. And peace was not a subtle thing.

Tobirama grumbled to himself, realizing that he had paused his brush mid-stroke, and now prototype seal design was ruined by an enormous splosh of ink. A part of him enjoyed startling the Uchiha, who was so clearly not on his own territory. But, ultimately, he took little pleasure in the two most powerful shinobi of Konoha acting like children under his nose.

He crumpled the paper and threw it on the floor. Hashirama _, why_.

 

Half an hour later, easily recognized footsteps echoed through the hallway, and the door behind Tobirama slid open. Older brother paused, waiting for the permission to enter.

Tobirama made a show of not noticing, his ink brush completing the curve of the seal. He was nearly done retracing the initial circle.

There was a cough.

Tobirama indulged in prolonging the silence.

“Morning.” He finally offered, deciding to show mercy, and turned around with a sigh. Whatever quip was forming on his lips died on its own.

Hashirama looked so familiar and so dear in his worn nemaki and a cup of tea in hand, that Tobirama could do nothing, but welcome his company. This was his brother’s nature. Happiness splashed in him like water in the pond, and he had to reach out to others to share it. Tobirama, with all his skepticism, could never refuse it. He was fittingly the younger Senju.

“Brother.”

Hashirama smiled, leaning against the door frame. “You are always up earlier than I am. May I join?”

Tobirama lifted an eyebrow.

His brother was familiar enough with the gesture to read it as consent, and smiled even wider, settling at a corner of a low table opposite to Tobirama. He took a sip of his tea and breathed in loudly. “Isn’t it wonderful to have nothing planned on a morning like this?”

“Sure.”

And while Tobirama’s mind was juggling the responses of _it looked like you had plans for a certain someone from where I was sitting_ and _I was busy in fact_ , an unfinished seal scroll caught Hashirama’s eye.  

“Oh,” he turned it to himself in curiosity, “What are you working on?”

“Trying to see if we can contain the Uchiha Fire Release like we do with explosive tags.”

Tobirama watched as his brother’s fingers attentively trailed the weaving of the seal, tapping at the messier spots that he himself was struggling to translate to paper clearer. “So we can detonate them remotely?”

A nod.

“But your parameters for the power of the Release and its direction are both unknowns.”

“Yes.” Tobirama moved in closer, leaning over the seal. “Fire Release in its classical form has a finite output capacity, but the baseline varies from user to user. I have the means, but..”

“You could have just asked Madara for help.” Hashirama interrupted, reproach weaving itself into his tone.

Tobirama snorted. Leaving him and Madara alone together for longer than an hour would inevitably result in a blown up argument over some insignificant clause in Konoha’s Code of Ninja Conduct and a minor explosion. But _wait_ , Hashirama out of all people _did not_ get to take a high road in this.

His eyes narrowed.

“Just as you could have asked him to stay for breakfast.”

“ _Oh_.” Hashirama blushed, and his hands lost all confidence of a researcher, falling gingerly around the teacup. “He said he couldn’t… he was busy, with the falcons.”

“And all the other times, what was he busy with?”

“He was..” Hashirama’s voice was losing conviction as he spoke. His brother could pathologically not lie, either for himself or for others. “Busy. With other things.”

“Brother.” Tobirama sighed. It was not his business, but it was also his thinning patience and his house. “Why can’t you call the whatever crappy excuse the man is making for what it is?”

“It’s just..” Hashirama made an uncertain gesture. “It’s what he wants. And it’s not always ideal or even right, but that’s just how he is. And I..”

He smiled, bright and earnest. “I love him.”

“I _know_.” Tobirama gave him a decidedly unimpressed stare.

“You do..?” Hashirama look was both shocked and betrayed, as if the greatest secret of his soul was laid bare.

“The entire village knows. And all of the surrounding lands do. Anyone in their clear mind, for that matter…”

Tobirama huffed, and sipped on his cold tea.

“Does that upset you?”

Tobirama allowed the silence to hang, and searched deep inside himself for an answer, eyes locking on the leaves rustling outside. Hashirama looked at him with nothing but compassion and concern, and deserved an honest answer.

There was anger in him, and sadness, for those who were left unburied on the battlefields, all the cruelties and wrongs experienced and inflicted that he could not let go of as easily as his brother did. He could work with the _idea_ of Madara, he could respect _parts_ of him, and even admire some _very select_ ones, but he could never fully trust him with his only brother _living_.

Hashirama always looked at people with wonder, and he looked at Madara like he had hung up the moon. And Tobirama stayed so faithfully by his brother’s side through all of his grandiose escapades partly because he believed that Hashirama did not always understand what he was getting himself into, partly - it was that wonder which could change the world, and Tobirama should equally know when to step aside.

He sighed heavily, and shut his eyes. “No.”

“Brother.”

There was a warm hand on top of his, and Tobirama looked at it, and then at his brother’s earnest, attentive face.

“No, it does not.” He collected his thoughts, and squeezed Hashirama’s hand in return. “Only that I cannot protect you from what you chose willingly.”

It was too late when he saw the mist in Hashirama’s eyes, and the quiver of his lip. _No_ , a panicked thought rushed through his mind, _gods, not that again_.

Before Tobirama could stop his brother’s impending display of emotion, he was crushed in a hug that nearly threw him over and threatened to splash the remained of his tea. Hashirama was sobbing into his shoulder.

Tobirama awkwardly patted his brother’s back, looking at the ceiling. “Please stop this.”

There was a loud sniff, and then another one, and Hashirama reluctantly pulled back, wiping his eyes with a corner of his sleeve, and offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I’m not sure how I deserve a brother like you.”

Tobirama gave him a half-smile, and decided to show some compassion. “Hashirama, I’m the lucky one to have you.”

And mentally kicked himself a second later, when his older brother started sniffing again. “Do _not_.”

“Sorry.” Hashirama repeated, and took a sip of his cooling tea to calm his senses. “I am so happy sometimes I wonder if it's all in my head, and it is all going to burst like a bubble of some sort, or a dream.”

Tobirama considered his brother, the most powerful shinobi living, framed by the green of the garden he grew, professing his feelings about the man he loves, and shook his head softly.

“It’s real.” He assured Hashirama, and if things will ever fall apart, he will be there to pick up the pieces.

They sat in a content silence for awhile, listening to the soft wind outside and each storing things just spoken into the dark, soft corners of their hearts.  Until Hashirama fiddled awkwardly, and rose his eyes.

“Do you think that he also..?”

Tobirama rolled his eyes. UCHIHA MADARA LOVES SENJU HASHIRAMA might as well read in big red letters over the face of the cliff. “ _Yes_.”

Hashirama’s face lit up, and then wrinkled again in confusion. “Then why does he-?”

“Because he’s _Madara_.” There was a special kind of exasperation in Tobirama’s voice when he spoke that name. “Like you said, it’s who he is. Whenever he sees whatever goodness there is in the world, he runs in the opposite direction.”

His older brother snickered.

“What.”

“You two won’t ever get along together, will you?”

Tobirama glared.

“Alright, alright..” Hashirama waves his hands in mock surrender, the familiar unextinguishable joy settling into his features. “But what do I do?”

“Just move in together.” Tobirama shrugged.

There was a stunned silence.

“Get a house, and live with him. And have your breakfasts.”

“We _what_ …? Oh.” Hashirama seemed to be struck with the idea, and all the possibilities it opened. He paused in excited silence for a few moments, his face growing brighter and brighter.

“So you think he would agree?”

“No.” Tobirama raised an eyebrow. “But the thing with love, brother, is that he does value you as much as you cherish him. He will disagree - for now - but he will follow.”

Hashirama beamed, and reached out - to other’s mortified groan - to ruffle Tobirama’s hair, “You have grown wise, little brother.”

“No.” Tobirama’s fruitlessly struggled to put his white stands back in order. “It is just that you have learned to listen.”

“And, come on.” A sort of amusement splashed in his dark eyes. “It’s not like you ever failed to convince Madara in anything.”

Hashirama nodded in thought, and  his jaw set into a sharp resolve which could, in fact, move mountains. He rose, with determination befitting the leader of his village, and, remembering, turned back to his brother, momentary losing his confidence when he met Tobirama’s eyes. “Should I.. go?”

“Please.” The other Senju rolled his eyes, “Go and spare me the burden of witnessing your blooming romance.”

Hashirama slapped him on the forehead as he stormed out, but Tobirama could see his brother’s cheeks burning with crimson.

No too long in the future, there will be a beautiful wooden house on the side of Konoha. And his brother would beam with pride, and will be telling to anyone who will or will not listen about his plans for a future garden. And Uchiha Madara would trail behind him, leaning against the doorframes and trying to hide his own joy in a tall collar. And Tobirama would, in fact, occasionally show up for breakfast with a heap of scrolls in tow, and hopefully Madara won’t be mortally offended by his taste for tea.

Tobirama snorted, and tried to combat his amusement by going back to his seal.

At least now he could go on with his morning.


End file.
